


5 out of 30 Days, art for 1991 & 4-parter for 2017

by herbailiwick



Series: 30 Days of 1991 & 2017 Mostly Fic and Some Art [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: First part of my 30 Day BatB Challenge with a scribbly 1991 drawing and 4 connected 2017 ficlets.





	1. Dramatic Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Morning"


	2. Wing (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jealousy"

Gaston hardly said anything at first, sitting, wrapped in a blanket by the fire. He barely looked at anyone, even LeFou, and it was highly upsetting for anyone who had known him to see him in his stillness.

LeFou had screamed aloud at seeing him trudge through the door of the tavern. It was a whole moon after the death Belle and the prince had actually witnessed, and he’d tracked mud into the place of business they hadn’t yet transferred over to anyone else, his singular purpose to sit by that fire and start rubbing at his arms. 

Tom and Dick took over with finding a blanket for Gaston while LeFou, knees buckling, was helped to the nearest chair by Stanley. Stanley fussed over him with a damp cloth for a moment, petting his shoulders and upper arms in a soothing motion.

***

“Let them handle it,” Stanley pointed out as they watched the two feed Gaston and give him some water, which he accepted slowly. He seemed like he was warming up still, perhaps in a deeper way than a winter chill would usually call for. “You don’t have to. You don’t really owe him anything.”  


“You’re right,” LeFou admitted with a sigh. After all, Stanley had helped warm LeFou in a similar way after the shock of what happened between him and Gaston, followed by the shock of there being no hope of moving on while he was mourning.  


“Pinch me again,” LeFou asked, and Stanley did.   


He was awake.

***

Patrons who got too close to Gaston were told to leave, Tom and Dick enforcing them being escorted out, but Stanley the most enthusiastic about it of all. 

Eventually, Gaston started to shift a little in the blanket, allowing his eyes to look around a little more. He only chanced a glance at LeFou a few times. 

“You ready to head to bed, Gaston? You probably need rest,” Tom pointed out. He and Dick helped Gaston rise from the chair and not trip over the blanket he’d gotten muddy. Gaston allowed them to lead him, sans shoes, toward the the front door where a coach was waiting outside.  


LeFou watched Gaston warily, hoping he would return to himself, and, in some ways, hoping he wouldn’t. Hoping he remembered everything, so LeFou wouldn’t have to tell him, so that no one would.

Gaston’s arm emerged from the blanket in a flash, finding LeFou’s wrist. LeFou blinked, stared up at his too-present friend as he leaned down. “LeFou,” Gaston said, and the sound was hoarse. 

LeFou froze. A frost of memories crystallized inside of him, starting with his fingertips and his toes and moving in, his heart, for its part, beating faster, unsure. He remembered being left under the heavy instrument, remembered being beaten, used as a shield, left behind. 

Stanley was there, standing behind him, an arm on either side as he provided warmth.

“What’s that, Gaston?” asked Stanley. There was a deep confidence in Stanley ever since his experience with the wardrobe. He was currently wearing a dress, actually, which hadn’t garnered him more than a passing glance from Gaston in his state.   


Gaston looked at Stanley, seeing the confidence, having a hard time understanding what would have changed since his death, since none of the others looked much different, the question itself too much for his mind, however. He wasn’t up to that. He paused too.

“What do you want from LeFou?” Stanley asked again.  


Gaston looked down to where his hand still held onto LeFou. “His help,” he admitted, voice intent, but too soft. Too scratchy. 

“To bathe him,” LeFou said as the realization dawned.   


The hands on LeFou’s upper arms gripped for a moment. LeFou turned to look at Stanley over his shoulder. “Sure thing,” Stanley said, yet his grip did not loosen.

LeFou wondered what to do, what to say.

“I can do it,” Tom pointed out to break the tension. The tension wasn’t capable of being broken by anyone who was not one of the other three, though. Gaston was definitely looking at LeFou now, gaze dull but pleading. He was tired. 

LeFou returned the gaze, saying, “I’ll go.” Like a butterfly pushing off from a leaf to make its flight, Stanley’s grip released and the hands were gone with their own form of grace. Only Gaston’s remained, dirt still under the fingernails, though Dick had cleaned his hands for him and wiped at his face.

It was that hand, supposed LeFou, that he had chosen, for the moment.


	3. Wend (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Midnight"

LeFou stopped the driver in mid sentence as he tried asking about why Gaston wasn’t dead. It was a good question, honestly, but he had an emotionally taxing quest ahead of him and refused to worry about the logic of it yet.

Stanley stood in the warm glow of the doorway, holding out the dirty boots, and when LeFou took them from him, he reached out with the side of his hand that was clean to stroke LeFou’s cheek for a moment. It was a gesture of comfort. It was also Stanley staking his claim. LeFou turned after the hand was removed to see if Gaston had seen Stanley do that. He couldn’t be sure.

LeFou appreciated the small gestures of affection he’d already gotten as well. Things of a softer nature had been much more implied and much more clandestine with Gaston, and, honestly, he still had no idea how much he had meant to Gaston in that way.

Gaston finally cleared his throat. LeFou glanced over, saw how nervous he looked. He sourced the nervousness, surprised to see that Gaston wasn’t upset over the moment he’d had had with Stanley at all. He was eyeing the driver who looked to have a thousand questions bottled up inside of him.

There had still been so much evening light when Gaston had arrived at the tavern, but the sky was at peace now that he was leaving again, enveloping the world to protect it, its darkness a reminder of how it felt to share innumerable secrets with a comrade and friend.  


“LeFou,” Gaston tried again in the darkness of the coach as it bumped lightly along the road, creaking now and then. LeFou’s grip tightened on the dirty shoes. He didn’t press for more from Gaston, he just waited.  


“I’ll help you,” LeFou finally promised in their cloak of darkness. If he hadn’t been pinched multiple times, or if Gaston had arrived when it looked as it did instead of as it had in the evening, he might have still been terrified that Gaston was a cruel specter, or even a hallucination. As it was, he was terrified of the things left unsaid between them, which felt very different.  


In the darkness, Gaston leaned against him, and his breath caught. He was probably cold, was all. They’d get him in a bath, fix the coldness and the dirt and the unfamiliarity with life that he suddenly had. It would be untrue to say he’d never seen Gaston look that way, but it had been over a decade.

“You’re not angry,” LeFou suddenly blurted out. “Normally, you’re...angry,” he finished ineffectually. When Gaston got upset, even in a very far-off way, he usually had a lot to say, a lot to _emit._  


“Shh,” Gaston hissed into their silence that was meant to hold them, meant to help.  


A passing streetlamp glinted off the buckle on one of Gaston’s shoes, and LeFou was reminded of how he’d removed his own buckles for mourning, how they’d all turned the pictures around at Gaston’s. It would be a strange sight for anyone to return home to, and Gaston certainly didn’t seem at his most comfortable.

The silence in the cab, though not in LeFou’s thoughts, was interrupted by the striking of the clock tower, signalling it was reasonably time for first sleep.

Gaston’s steps were unsteady as they left the cab, and LeFou helped him inside with a bit of difficulty, the boots in the hand of the arm that wasn’t helping Gaston.

LeFou helped Gaston shed the blanket, sighing. They’d have a lot of cleaning up to do. 

“Sleep,” Gaston mumbled.  


“Hm? No. Gaston, that’s not what we’re here for,” LeFou pointed out.   


Gaston glared. “So you assumed.”

It was true. LeFou reached out to help Gaston out of his jacket. “Okay, then,” he agreed. “Sleep.”

***

LeFou had bathed his friend before, more than a few times, but he had slept pressed against him before too. He was good at comforting Gaston while awake, and good at protecting him from nightmares as they slept. It was a skill he’d honed more than making stew or doing light tailoring work, things he enjoyed doing, so that was saying something, but, it just felt really nice to be close to Gaston.

Stanley had let him come, LeFou reminded himself with a jolt as he sat on the edge of the bed by the light of the lamp he could have drawn from memory. He and Stanley had never planned for this eventuality, because...because Gaston should have been dead. Stanley was a good friend, and was becoming a different type of loved one, or at least that was what they both were sensing, offering affection, and dances.

Maybe he should go home. 

Gaston needed connection like anyone else, but he found it hard to form at times. He liked LeFou well enough, or had until _Belle_  had been the latest to try and get in the way, and in the strongest way. LeFou had worked too hard for anyone thinking they could use their looks to steal Gaston away to win so easily.

Did Gaston even like men? LeFou didn’t know, not for sure. Sometimes, friends who needed connection just got close. Sometimes, yeah, they even sniffed you. That didn’t mean they’d be interested in taking other steps, or that that’d result in a healthy romantic—or _whatever—_ relationship. 

“Gaston,” LeFou said, and he looked up, catching Gaston’s gaze. He was dressed for bed, face still a bit inexplicably dirty, hair looking in need of a wash, untied, tangled up.  


“Please,” Gaston said. That was it, for LeFou. He wasn’t going home, wasn’t going to Stanley for the hinted comfort Stanley had offered him a week before.  


Gaston’s draw meant something to him, despite what had occurred, all the pain and embarrassment it held when he thought about it.

“When you wake up, bath,” he finally said, and Gaston nodded. He truly did look exhausted.   


LeFou pulled back the blankets. He knew what Gaston smelled like already, having decided the bath was why he was needed based upon the stench. “You’re getting behind me,” LeFou told Gaston, and he received a curt nod. In those eyes, dark in the dim light, he saw more nervousness, and it made him appreciate the chance they had to move on all the more.

“Because you smell,” LeFou added as he lay down, facing the wall. Gaston slid in behind him quietly, hunter instincts in play again, tentatively. His arm reached forward, wrapping itself around LeFou, making LeFou sigh out in comfort.   


“I know,” Gaston murmured. “I can smell me.”  


Those were the last words they exchanged, their closeness helping both of their hearts find a nice, slow rhythm to follow to help them find some rest.

***

LeFou was awake, taking in his situation, when the clock told them it was midnight. He shifted to look and see if Gaston was up, startled when the arm around him tightened. 

“Shh,” Gaston hissed. Something about it made LeFou swallow and comply. He stilled, let the arm clutch him. Let the arm loosen a bit again, leading LeFou to allow himself to take in some deep breaths, but he didn’t seem to calm much from them.  


He made the next move, so Gaston would quit his game. He slid his own hand down to find Gaston’s, linking their fingers with his on top.

“Oh,” he heard behind him. He’d missed his voice dearly, the typical bravado in it and the vulnerability that always surprised both of them. He hadn’t missed the coldness in it when it had been used to abandon him, though.   


He shuddered. Gaston moved his arm from LeFou carefully, but LeFou kept gripping that hand. He gripped, then tightened the grip too much. His friend made a soft sound of pain.

“LeFou!”  


He released Gaston’s hand. “Bath,” he declared, not yet turning around. First sleep was over.

“We could...we could go back. The tavern....”  


“The tavern’s fine. They have it under control. Bath. Now.” He turned to look over his shoulder. His own hair had come loose some. He felt so warm, between the blankets, Gaston’s body heat still so close.  


Gaston carefully nodded. He slowly, clumsily rose, body still seeming like it was having a hard time figuring out what was going on, despite that most of it should have been familiar.

“Just us,” Gaston pointed out.   


“That’s how we always do it,” LeFou pointed out with a hint of irritation at Gaston’s discomfort. _Now_ , about the _bath_ , which they agreed that he needed and which had been one of LeFou’s favorite things to help him with (secretly), was not the time to locate reservations.  


“But.” Gaston sighed deeply, his face troubled.  


LeFou rolled his eyes at him as he got up. “You’ve never minded before,” he ground out. “Was it me and Stanley?”

Gaston’s eyes grew wide. He stood there in his nightshirt, his hair a mess, staring. 

“I don’t have time for this,” LeFou swallowed, pushing past Gaston to open the bedroom door. “Bath, and then I’m going to Stanley’s.” Honestly, he probably owed him, for running off to be intimate with Gaston. If he was really committed, it he really liked courting Stanley, if that was what they should keep doing, showing up to learn more about the alphabet by candlelight while Stanley stroked his hair would only be fair.  


LeFou was halfway down the stairs when he heard something that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t.” His hand paused on the stair railing. He remembered the way it had felt resting over Gaston’s. 

He needed to start the water. He wasn’t wasting his time on lost causes anymore, even if the causes were truly spectacular.


	4. While (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bath"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes out to Riachinko for giving me a final _push_ in figuring out how to write the first smut I’ve written in years!

LeFou regretted very quickly having brought attention to himself and Stanley at all. It was possible that Gaston had only had suspicions, or, even worse, that he hadn’t had any, and that LeFou had done nothing less than open himself up to incredibly dangerous scrutiny.  


The feeling of low, rising panic was just what he needed to add to the fact his positive and grudging feelings for Gaston were warring with each other and then, in turn, warring with his feelings for Stanley.

LeFou huffed at the lack of clarity in the chaos as he leaned over and pulled the cloth off the top off of a bucket of water they’d had ready for cleaning up after a hunt they hadn’t gone on. Gaston was in the room again by the time the fire was heating the water in that first bucket.

“LeFou,” Gaston tried.  


“No,” said LeFou, taking control before he had to see disdain, pity, or disgust about they way he had always been. “You basically left me for dead. So, anything you think you know about me, it’s not gonna be held against me, not tonight. I’m fine.” He offered a look of triumph. “I’m totally safe here. Cause you treated me like I didn’t matter, and, clearly,” he gestured to the stove, “I’m a better guy than you are.”  


The silence was heavy. LeFou tried not to look like he was afraid, tried not to let on that his threat was as empty as the copper tub itself. In truth, if he wanted to, Gaston could reject him and turn the whole town against him, too. Gaston hadn’t faced any charges, being dead, and maybe he would, or maybe he wouldn’t, but it was true that while there wasn’t really anything wrong with Belle or her father, not Asylum wrong, they’d been on their way there anyway, all because of Gaston.

Where would they send someone like LeFou? That same asylum? Prison? Honestly, he didn’t like to think on that question too much. Never had.

Gaston looked at him, staring again, this time...sadly. Why did he have to do that? LeFou turned away again, liking the sadness less than the shock, cause at least the shock had felt like something he’d created, like something he’d _done_.

He found the second bucket and placed it over the second fire hole, wishing he could just as easily block out the hole that he’d been left with after Gaston’s death.

“Thanks, LeFou. For helping me,” Gaston finally said. The sound was sincerer than it should have been, so LeFou immediately distrusted it. 

He turned slowly again, just enough to see him. “You’re welcome. I,” he paused. “I still think you owe me.”

Gaston nodded. 

“Oh, so you agree?” LeFou mocked lightly.   


Gaston took a step closer, still only in his nightgown. “LeFou.” He was hesitating, as he’d done all evening and seemed likely to do all night. “I’ve missed you. Dearly.”

LeFou faced the stove again, something about the words serving as a warning. “Well. I deserved better,” he tried, feeling shaky all of a sudden.  


“Yes.” Gaston stepped closer still to LeFou, practically purring in is ear. “Tell me, LeFou, about you and Stanley. Is that better?”

“You’ve done enough damage,” stated LeFou, rejecting the offer of closeness.  


“Hmm?”  


“Enough damage.” He slowly turned again, careful to avoid the warmth he had spent first sleep next to. “Does it surprise you, Gaston? That...that I’d...be with him?” He had never said it out loud, he realized. They hadn’t formed terms for it. Something in his heart twinged at the fact he couldn’t take the words back now. They half belonged to Stanley, and, no matter if they hadn’t, they shouldn’t have been given to Gaston. 

“Yes,” came the swift reply, joined by a nod. Here Gaston was, bothered by the idea. How dare he be, though, with his romance being the truly ridiculous one? Typical, entitled Gaston.

LeFou poured in the first bucket carefully before allowing himself to glance at his old friend again. They had agreed Gaston owed him, so his life would not be in danger, no matter what else he said. 

He’d say it, then. Form words, make it _matter_. “Here’s the thing,” he puffed himself up a bit, wishing he was a little taller. “I don’t want to be with women.”

Gaston scoffed. “I know,” he said.    


“No, I want to be...happy, in my own way, Gaston.”   


“I _know_ ,” Gaston said.  


“Oh.” He was suddenly out of breath. Maybe it wasn’t powerful, saying it, anyway? And maybe it didn’t matter if...

“You’re surprised at Stanley, then?” LeFou tried, feeling jerked around by his own emotional reactions, jerked around by Gaston.

Gaston clasped his own hands together in a grateful gesture. “Yes! That’s why I’m surprised.”  


LeFou’s hands clenched into fists that really needed to find a way to take the double standard that had been lobbed at him and put it somewhere else. “I’m the awful one, right? The one you’d expect it of, o-out of the two of us. A-And, Stanley,” LeFou muttered, “he’s always been more...like you. Than I have. I’m,” he hated how pinched his voice was getting, “I’m annoying, and I’m...don’t like to do the sorts of things women think a husband should do. I just don’t!”

“LeFou! You don’t even want a woman,” Gaston pointed out, this frown one of mild confusion. “Why would that matter?”  


LeFou bent down, reached for the covering on the last bucket, letting there be silence. He didn’t even know why Gaston was pushing, why he was asking. It shouldn’t matter. To LeFou, what Gaston thought about it was very important, but not worth his dignity. Not anymore.

“They covered the water,” Gaston sighed out. LeFou’s hand tightened on the cloth he’d pulled off the bucket. “You’re mourning me. So are the others.” Their accessories had caught his eye, even in the state he’d been in at the tavern. 

He’d noticed Stanley comforting LeFou.  


“Well, you’re very popular!” LeFou snapped. He let that ring in the room for a moment, after it was out. Why was he even at Gaston’s still? Was this helping them at all? 

Gaston avoided brushing against LeFou as he grasped the second bucket from the stone top of the stove for himself. “Are you done insulting me?” he asked. 

“I’ll never be done!” LeFou said.   


“I was cruel to you. And I’m sorry, LeFou. But....”

With LeFou’s help, the third bucket went in. The heat from the stove and the water as it entered the tub was making his shirt stick to him. It was so heavy, so close. Like Gaston, as they stood by the copper tub. Like his words.

They let the water cool. The rest of the tension didn’t go with it.  

“So. What is it? What’s your deal with Stanley?” LeFou asked, watching absently as Gaston stripped down. The act wasn’t new in the least, but Gaston _knew_  he liked men, and only men, and he’d... _almost_ said it. 

It changed things.

“What’s my ‘deal’?” he scoffed again, and it made him look more handsome. “Do you really want to know?”

“Maybe not, if you’re gonna insist on being all mysterious and cryptic.” He made his way to the cupboard to get the rest of the bathing supplies. “I’m tired of it. Of all of this.”

“Even this part?” He gave a low, seductive sort of chuckle. It cut LeFou to the heart to hear it, and he froze. He avoided eye contact on his way back. 

Gaston had gone too far, and, with a sigh, he acknowledged it. “Don’t answer that.” He started to ease himself into the tub. LeFou watched the interplay of familiar muscles with dread. “My problem with Stanley, LeFou. Do you want to know?” 

LeFou rolled up his sleeves with a lump in his throat. He said nothing. He wanted to deny, even to agree with Gaston about how he liked looking at him.  


“Stanley promised me he would back off. That I would get first try.” 

“At, what, some deer?” LeFou called. He didn’t understand their competitions.

“At _you_ ,” Gaston said, like it was obvious.  


“Pardon?” LeFou set the supplies on the ground next to him with the bit of energy he had left. Surely, Gaston wasn’t meaning to do more than imply and tease and get LeFou’s hopes up, which was childish with a side of cruel.  


Surely, he didn’t actually mean it. Just like he hadn’t meant to seduce. Maybe he even meant that they—Gaston and Stanley—wanted to get at him for his... _weakness_. Maybe Gaston wasn’t alone in his teasing at all. 

What if the entire relationship with Stanley was a lie? LeFou had never met another man who wished to try and settle down with him before, had he? It was too good, wasn’t it, to be true.

“You know,” Gaston added unhelpfully, gesturing to LeFou lazily. 

“No,” LeFou said bitterly. He _really_ didn’t understand their competitions. “I don’t _know_. Be clear.” 

Gaston leaned over the side of the tub, reaching out for LeFou’s hand. “My friend,” he said. The tone was calm, even respectful. Despite his suspicions, LeFou was helpless against it, just...just in case.

“What is it?” LeFou sighed.   


“I’ve had an idea,” Gaston admitted, looking up at LeFou as he stood above him. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, the one LeFou had once brushed with a finger tip while Gaston slept next to him, so faintly he hadn’t stirred.

Gaston’s hand pulled LeFou closer to the side of the tub with the strength he had, with his lower center of gravity. Honestly, too, with the pull he had over LeFou’s heart that was much too fluttery at the sight of a wet, pink tongue to protect him from whatever was going to happen.

It had been _more_ than once that he’d touched that lip that way, actually. And he’d never quite recovered from the night when, in his sleep, Gaston had pressed their faces together, and they had _almost_ met, like Fate was telling LeFou their time would come, and that it was okay to _want_.

That wettened lip was the last thing LeFou’s eyes focused on before his wrists were encircled by Gaston’s hands, before he was tugged down with all his friend’s might. He was plunged then, elbows deep, chest-in, face-in, to the warm water and the warm, solid body underneath its surface.

By the time he came up, gasping, dripping water from his hair, his shirt, and his nose, he was greeted with Gaston’s booming laughter. It cut him like the relative chill of the air, surprised the breath out of him like being yanked down into a bath tub and a bather had.

“Just leave me alone!” glared LeFou, leaning over the side of the tub and clumsily wiping at his eyes. 

There were more laughs shaking the chest that held a heart that didn’t feel the same as LeFou.

“If you think that...,” he tried, drowned out by the laughter. “Look! Just stop!” 

Gaston, for his part, raised a brow, lip half quirked. His mirth warred so _casually_  with the idea of respecting LeFou’s dignity. A sob escaped LeFou against his weakened will, betraying him, just as certain other parties once had.

Gaston sobered, and LeFou shut his eyes. He was someone with no hope, just a pawn in a competition forever being pitied. He was known for crying easily during the war. Gaston had once said he admired his openness. Maybe not anymore, if he’d chosen to do all this. 

“I just wanted you to join me!” Gaston blurted out. He sounded far away, even as one of LeFou’s wrists remained in his hand, hanging loosely from his grip.

“I want you to bathe with me.”  


LeFou wiped at his eyes again, turning red from all the heat, the embarrassment. He was barely registering the sounds, trying to capture their vague meaning.

“Hmm?” he asked groggily, blinking his eyes open to look at Gaston. He felt full of water somehow, or perhaps stuck in it, slow, with images distorting.    


Gaston said something else, his lips parting, sound escaping into the room, but, hearing nothing, LeFou barely noticed the grip on his wrist shift to his large hand instead, guiding it. 

Where was it going? He watched the gentle press to the chest, felt familiar muscles, ones he had touched while dressing wounds, while wrestling with Gaston, while cuddling, while admiring Gaston for his physique, all the way down, like the steps to a dance at a ball.

He was present, then. He’d found something very new. In Gaston’s strong lap, between thighs he’d sat himself across before while lost in ale, his hand was pressed down. Allowed. 

Commanded?

Shirt half soggy, pulled into a state of hot and cold that reflected the way he’d been treated, LeFou came back to himself radically. He stared down through the slight shifting of surface of the water to peer at his new domain.

He gave a squeeze, experimental, deciding for himself what he would do, reflecting on the soft groan Gaston offered. Hmm. It was...it was pretty.

Shocked eyes were now wide and blue, and no longer laughing. He looked more like the Gaston who had tracked mud into the tavern than the one who had pulled him into a bathtub and laughed. Defying his mix of emotions, LeFou gave Gaston’s cock a soft, slow squeeze, then. It was half hard, which made his reasons for pulling LeFou into the water start to become clear.

“I,” Gaston’s breath hitched, “I wanted you to bathe with me,” he offered unhelpfully.

“This isn’t bathing,” LeFou managed to say as he looked down again, feeling him fill with want, unable to deny that part of it. What would his game be? He moved his hand, carefully, memorizing the thickness.  


Gaston hissed softly, “Well, it's never too late to start.”

“Things _are_ too late sometimes,” LeFou said coolly. The grip around his hand had gentled to just resting atop his, barely making contact at all. It didn’t know what to do with itself. 

Good.

LeFou casually knocked the hand away, enjoying the slight curve to Gaston’s shaft, offering a low chuckle.

“Ha! Ohhhhhh,” Gaston groaned out, and he sank back even more, more of his hair getting wet, being pulled into the not-so-hidden land where LeFou’s hand was gripping him.   


He pulled the head out of the warm water, eyeing it, giving the foreskin a slight press at the top. In his palm was the swelling evidence of a bold philosophy. 

Gaston’s free hand let itself find the rim of the tub, casually holding on. His eyes were still shocked, and LeFou didn’t want them to ever be otherwise again.

“Gaston? Hmm? Are you listening?” he asked. The man shuddered slightly at the sound of his voice, and their eyes met, deeply. 

“Gaston,” he cooed at him, liking the way the exposed head glinted, dark in the low light, “if you’re using me to find jouissance, I’ll murder you.”

A hitched breath sounded, delicate and novel, and then a moan. LeFou reached out to cup at the side of his beautiful face with his free hand, catching and holding onto a wide-eyed gaze he wasn’t going to release back into the wild ever again.

He found, as he tried it, that the gentle head of Gaston’s cock fit in the palm of his hand nicely for a bit of a rub.

“Kill me, hmm?” Gaston called, blinking.

“I’m in love with you,” whispered LeFou. It earned him another soft moan.

“Of course you are,” Gaston smirked, and LeFou squeezed, before continuing the rhythm he’d started, slow, maybe too slow. 

He tried a bit of a twist, the feel of the cock so heavy now it was poking out of the water, he felt weak-kneed. 

He felt strong.

If he just...just leaned a bit more, he could...oh, he was tempted to kiss it. Later, though. It could wait. 

“LeFou!” Gaston’s voice cracked on his name. It was only then he realized what his hand had opted to do.

He was being rough, in his revelry, in his indecision, constricting meanly. He released the side of Gaston’s face, reached down, past the heated cock reaching out to him, finding the balls, making sure they knew who he was as well.

“Are you close, Gaston?” he purred out his whisper.  


“Yeah!” Gaston exclaimed for him, breathless. He was looking at him, his hands on either side of the warm tub like they knew they belonged there. He was wanting LeFou to take the game to its natural end.  


“Should I make you?” he asked, working Gaston toward it with graceful movements and just a hint of punishment, not needing an answer. He enjoyed the nod he got, though, and the small sounds. Gaston was vocally expressive even in this activity, and it fueled his nervous first attempt.  


Gaston’s cheek, so chiseled, covered in embarrassing stubble, was close, his right and his homeland to claim. He kissed it while stroking, and whispered against it with tingling lips, “Gaston?”

“Hnmm?”  


“Don’t forget: You owe me.”

Gaston came with a shout, curling his fingers against the warm copper. He was truly home.

***

LeFou felt like a king as he watched Gaston try to recover, no matter the need in his own trousers.

“These,” Gaston finally managed, tugging at LeFou’s shirt as he caught his breath. “You.”  


LeFou shook his head. Gaston was flushed pink and vulnerable, his aggression weak from want and satisfaction. He’d been physically exhausted since who knew how long. 

“Your turn, LeFou,” a voice softer than it had a right to be said, a hand reaching out for his. “Come.”

“No,” he said aloud. “Gaston...I’m here to bathe you,” he reminded.

A large pout turned down the corners of those lips LeFou still hadn’t tasted. “If you _must_. But, get on with it. And be thorough,” he ordered, wrapping that persona around himself in his awkward state.

LeFou eyed Gaston coolly. “I think I’ve been pretty thorough,” he pointed out.

Gaston’s face scrunched up even more than his pout had scrunched it at the memory, at the lack of cooperation. “Fine,” he finally said.

LeFou reached for the soap so he could begin. He moved carefully, his need insistent and not enjoying being ignored, but it would eventually stop being a bother so he could keep his head. 

“What do you want from me?” Gaston demanded, done playing nice. He didn’t have the energy. It wasn’t LeFou’s problem, even if it was his fault.

“That’s my question to ask,” he pointed out, reaching out for the closest arm, beginning the washing with it.   


“That isn’t all I want,” Gaston said huffily. 

“Good,” LeFou returned, shifting toward the back of the tub a bit to get his shoulders, starting on his back as he could. “Well?” he asked Gaston, who gave a little shiver for him.

“I’ve never done this before!”  


LeFou tugged at Gaston’s tangled, half-damp hair, making him look him in the eye best he could with a soft grunt. “You think I have, Gaston?”

Wide, blue eyes again. “Okay,” he admitted quietly. “I see.”

“I haven’t,” LeFou admitted, and he felt his face begin to heat again. He let go of the hair, soothed it a little bit with a gentle hand. “Damn you.”  


“You...did well,” Gaston admitted, sinking into the tub a bit again.   


“Why did you put my hand on you? Wait! Did you think I’m _used_ to....”   


“Stanley!” Gaston insisted. “Stanley doesn’t get to have you.”  

LeFou blinked. “Some game. You’re always playing games, Gaston.” He was tired, even as he still felt a hint of wanting for that touch.

“There’s no game. It’s rather serious. I told him, months ago. You’re mine.”

Months. LeFou’s hands went still on Gaston’s warm, wet biceps.

“I don’t think he has any intention of giving you up,” Gaston muttered almost to himself. “I can’t let you go to his place after this.” 

“I can do whatever I want,” LeFou said. Gaston went very still too. He slowly, carefully shifted to look back at LeFou again.  


“You...can,” he offered. “But....”  


“But, will I?” asked LeFou. “If you make it...worth my while? No.” He swallowed after he said it. It wasn’t quite him, this new...restructuring he was going for. But, for now, best to play it powerful, lest he find himself empty handed once again.  


Gaston leaned over a bit more, resting on his arm as he looked back at LeFou. “You want the same treatment, then. Or, I’ll put my mouth on you, kiss you there. I don’t mind at all,” he said pointedly. “You’re not going to Stanley’s, though.”  


“So you’re a whore now?” LeFou teased, voice high and light, no danger in it anymore. He laughed at the idea, the most popular man in town having to pay his friends not to leave in sexual favors.  


Who knew if he’d even be any good!

The soft laughter he gave made him relax again, and he sighed, content. “That’s not what I want, but I’ll consider it a bonus,” he allowed. 

Gaston tilted his head curiously, shifting so he was on his front in the tub, resting his face on his arms. “What could possibly be better than me doing that for you?”

LeFou took a moment to accept Gaston’s comfort with him, with the idea of them together. “Stanley was teaching me to read,” he pointed out. “He’s thoughtful. You have to be thoughtful too.”  


“I can be thoughtful!” Gaston protested, sleepy and sweet in his anger.   


LeFou smirked at his new fortune. “Alright,” he shrugged. “You can kiss me all over my cock until I come.”

“Splendid,” Gaston agreed. LeFou could see those intent eyes were a bit bloodshot. He leaned in gently, offered a kiss that was graciously accepted. “And, LeFou, _ma caille_ ,” he added. “If you just use _me_  to find jouissance, and you go back to Stanley? I’ll murder you too.”  


Something about it made LeFou lean in for another kiss, a little longer, a little warmer between them. It had no power in it. He was no bird, waiting to be shot. He had a different role, for now.

“Of course, _mon lapin_ ,” he teased, to a confused and irritated look. “Of course.”  



	5. Word (Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Leather"

“Hgnn!” LeFou moaned, beautifully bound books poking and prodding at him at odd angles as his body gave a jerk over the settee, some of them open to illustrations of saints and horse care and mathematical diagrams, some closed, with indented designs his fingertips caught on.

“More,” encouraged Gaston. He curled his fingers slightly, parting them just a bit to stretch at that novice hole, not trained enough yet for him to get deep inside, not the way he wished to feel now, with the way it clenched, a bit of oil dripping out and down, onto the floor.  


“Aghh, fuck,” muttered LeFou, his heeled boots slipping on the wooden boards of the floor, the toes inside no doubt trying to curl. His cheeks were bare and a deep, punished pink.  


“That’s not one,” Gaston chuckled, the sound fond as he wiggled his fingers deep, pressing as far as he could.  


“Ha! D-Doo-bluh-vay” he gasped.   


“Yessss.” The second hand reached for his waiting prick, curling around it once again, giving it a stroke with the soft leather of the glove. He pulled away much too soon for LeFou, who gasped, then buried his face in the arm of the settee, the smell of the nearest books invading his nose. A different scent than Gaston’s gloves, ones he’d already licked his own ornamental cum off of before.  


“And then?”  


“Hahn, uh,” LeFou shifted so he could look up at where his gripping hand was, the binding on the handle of the hornbook making little indents in his palm and fingers. A dark brown, well-worn leather, borrowed from Stanley. “Eeks!” he gasped out.   


The second hand returned for another stroke, lingering just a bit before leaving him again. His shoe slid on the floor again, his eyes open, slightly glazed, finding his next letter. They were almost done. Those fingers in him had stilled for a moment. His breath held as they stilled.

He finally remembered to breathe, inhaling sharply, that scent distracting him it was so strong, all around him, especially since he wasn’t used to reading books. “Ee-Grehk!” he called out. 

This time, the hand that met him lingered more still, and his feet scuffed at the floor as it did. 

“Oh, LeFou. You’re almost done,” said Gaston softly. He sounded proud, even though reading wasn’t something he particularly thought was very necessary for most of life.   


He started to move the fingers again. LeFou tensed, then whined at the sensation of them inside of him, wanting inside the way he wanted them there. 

“Zehd!” he cried out, waiting for a moment. The hand went away from his prick entirely, and he gasped out.  


“Zehd!” he tried again, desperate.   


“Shhh,” Gaston soothed. His gloved hand spread itself out flat over his left cheek, giving it a squeeze. It was too soft on the punished skin there, making him moan and close his eyes tightly. Gaston had smacked him lightly with the hornbook before they’d started.  


A tiny, high sound escaped him, a plea. That hand squeezed his buttocks, his dripping hole clenching at the fingers in protest. The second finger slid out, leaving just one, and he gasped.

“Find your release,” the kind voice said again as the gloved hand left his cheeks again, wrapping around his prick once more. “It’s yours.”  


He humped at the glove as best as he could, curling his hand around the handle of the hornbook even more tightly, rocking until he spurted, spilled out, painting the glove again for Gaston, who liked it when he did, who opted to lick it off too.

“Before long, I’ll be inside you like these,” Gaston promised with a few more crooks and wiggles of the two fingers. Somehow, while he’d spilled out, Gaston had pressed the second one in again.

“I think you’re ready to try a book,” Gaston said kindly. “Some words.”

LeFou knew he was wrong, at the moment, about words. He had none left, he had to admit, a low moan leaving him, reaching Gaston’s ears. 

His hand loosened on the handle of the hornbook but did not opt to let it go.   



End file.
